_O'BLANEY'S House._

_O'BLANEY and CATTY ROONEY._

_Catty._ And didn't ye hear it, counshillor? the uproar in the town and the riot?--oh! you'd think the world was throwing out at windows. See my jock, all tattered! Didn't ye hear!

_O'Bla._ How could I hear, backwards, as you see, from the street, and given up to my business?

_Catty._ Business! oh! here is a fine business--the McBrides have driven all before them, and chased the Roonies out of Ballynavogue. (_In a tone of deep despair._) Oh! Catty Rooney! that ever you'd live to see this day!

_O'Bla._ Then take this gla.s.s (_offering a gla.s.s of whiskey_) to comfort your heart, my good Mrs. Rooney.

_Catty._ No, thank you, counshillor, it's past that even! ogh! ogh!--oh!

wirrastrew!--oh! wirrastrew, ogh!--(_After wringing her hands, and yielding to a burst of sorrow and wailing, she stands up firmly._) Now I've ased my heart, I'll do. I've spirit enough left in me yet, you'll see; and I'll tell you what I came to you for, counshillor.

_O'Bla._ Tell me first, is Randal Rooney in it, and is he hurt?

_Catty._ He was in it: he's not hurt, more shame for him! But, howsomever, he bet one boy handsomely; that's my only comfort. Our faction's all going full drive to swear examinations, and get justice.

_O'Bla._ Very proper--very proper: swear examinations--that's the course, and only satisfaction in these cases to get justice.

_Catty._ Justice!--revenge sure! Oh! revenge is sweet, and I'll have it. Counshillor dear, I never went before Mr. Carver--you know him, sir--what sort is he?

_O'Bla._ A mighty good sort of gentleman--only mighty tiresome.

_Catty._ Ay, that's what I hard--that he is mighty fond of talking to people for their good. Now that's what I dread, for I can't stand being talked to for my good.

_O'Bla._ 'Tis little use, I confess. We Irish is wonderful soon tired of goodness, if there's no spice of fun along with it; and poor Carver's soft, and between you and I, he's a little bothered, but, Mrs. Rooney, you won't repate?

_Catty._ Repate!--I! I'm neither watch nor repater--I scorn both; and between you and I, since you say so, counshillor, that's my chiefest objection to Carver, whom I wouldn't know from Adam, except by reputation. But it's the report of the country, that he has common informers in his pay and favour; now that's mane, and I don't like it.

_O'Bla._ Nor I, Mrs. Rooney. I had experience of informers in the distillery line once. The worst varmin that is ever encouraged in any house or country. The very mintion of them makes me creep all over still.

_Catty._ Then 'tis Carver, they say, that has the oil of Rhodium for them; for they follow and fawn on him, like rats on the rat catcher--of all sorts and sizes, he has 'em. They say, he sets them over and after one another; and has _lations_ of them that he lets out on the craturs'

cabins, to larn how many grains of salt every man takes with his little _prates_, and bring information if a straw would be stirring.

_O'Bla._ Ay, and if it would, then, it's Carver that would quake like the aspin leaf--I know that. It's no malice at all in him; only just he's a mighty great poltroon.

_Catty._ Is that all? Then I'd pity and laugh at him, and I go to him preferably to any other magistrate.

_O'Bla._ You may, Mrs. Rooney--for it's in terror of his life he lives, continually draming day and night, and croaking of carders and thrashers, and oak boys, and white boys, and peep-o'-day boys, and united boys, and riband-men, and men and boys of all sorts that have, and that have not, been up and down the country since the rebellion.

_Catty._ The poor cratur! But in case he'd prove refractory, and would not take my examinations, can't I persecute my shute again the McBrides for the bit of the bog of Ballynascraw, counshillor?--Can't I _harash_ 'em at law?

_O'Bla._ You can, ma'am, harash them properly. I've looked over your papers, and I'm happy to tell you, you may go on at law as soon and as long as you plase.

_Catty._ (_speaking very rapidly_) Bless you for that word, counshillor; and by the first light to-morrow, I'll drive all the grazing cattle, every four-footed _baast_ off the land, and pound 'em in Ballynavogue; and if they replevy, why I'll distrain again, if it be forty times, I will go. I'll go on distraining, and I'll advertise, and I'll cant, and I'll sell the distress at the end of the eight days. And if they dare for to go for to put a plough in that bit of reclaimed bog, I'll come down upon 'em with an injunction, and I would not value the expinse of bringing down a record a pin's pint; and if that went again me, I'd remove it to the courts above and wilcome; and after that, I'd go into equity, and if the chancillor would not be my friend, I'd take it over to the House of Lords in London, so I would as soon as look at 'em; for I'd wear my feet to the knees for justice--so I would.

_O'Bla._ That you would! You're an iligant lawyer, Mrs. Rooney; but have you the sinews of war?

_Catty._ Is it money, dear?--I have, and while ever I've one shilling to throw down to ould Matthew McBride's guinea, I'll go on; and every guinea he parts will twinge his vitals: so I'll keep on while ever I've a fiv'-penny bit to rub on another--for my spirit is up.

_O'Bla._ Ay, ay, so you say. Catty, my dear, your back's asy up, but it's asy down again.

_Catty._ Not when I've been trod on as now, counshillor: it's then I'd turn and fly at a body, gentle or simple, like mad.

_O'Bla._ Well done, Catty (_patting her on the back_). There's my own pet mad cat--and there's a legal venom in her claws, that every scratch they'll give shall fester so no plaister in law can heal it.

_Catty._ Oh, counshillor, now, if you wouldn't be flattering a wake woman.

_O'Bla._ Wake woman!--not a bit of woman's wakeness in ye. Oh, my cat-o'-cats! let any man throw her from him, which way he will, she's on her legs and at him again, tooth and claw.

_Catty._ With nine lives, renewable for ever.

[_Exit CATTY._

_O'Bla._ (_alone_) There's a demon in woman's form set to work for me!

Oh, this works well--and no fear that the Roonies and McBrides should ever come to an understanding to cut me out. Young Mr. Randal Rooney, my humble compliments to you, and I hope you'll become the willow which you'll soon have to wear for Miss Honor McBride's pretty sake. But I wonder the brother a'n't come up yet with the rist of her fortune.

(Calls behind the scenes.) Mick! Jack! Jenny! Where's Pat?--Then why don't you know? run down a piece of the road towards Ballynascraw, see would you see any body coming, and bring me word would you see Phil McBride--you know, flourishing Phil.--Now I'm prepared every way for the shupervishor, only I wish to have something genteel in my fist for him, and a show of cash flying about--nothing like it, to dazzle the eyes.

[_Exit O'BLANEY._

ACT III.

SCENE I.

_An Apartment in Mr. CARVER'S House. Mr. CARVER seated: a table, pens, ink, paper, and law-books. A cleric, pen in hand.--On the right-hand side of Mr. CARVER stands Mrs. CATTY ROONEY.--RANDAL ROONEY beside her, leaning against a pillar, his arms folded.--Behind Mrs. ROONEY, three men--one remarkably tall, one remarkably little.--On the left-hand of Mr. CARVER stand Old MATTHEW McBRIDE, leaning on his stick; beside him, PHILIP McBRIDE, with his silver-hilted whip in his hand.--A Constable at some distance behind Mr. CARVER'S chair.--Mr. CARVER looking over and placing his books, and seeming to speak to his clerk._

_Catty._ (_aside to her son_) See I'll take it asy, and be very shivel and sweet wid him, till I'll see which side he'll lane, and how it will go with us Roonies--(_Mr. CARVER rising, leans forward with both his hands on the table, as if going to speak, looks round, and clears his throat loudly._)--Will I spake now, plase your honour?

_Old McB._ Dacency, when you see his honour preparing his throat.

[_Mr. CARVER clears his throat again._

_Catty._ (_curtsying between each sentence_) Then I ixpect his honour will do me justice. I got a great character of his honour. I'd sooner come before your honour than any jantleman in all Ireland. I'm sure your honour will stand my _frind_.

_Clerk._ Silence!

_Mr. Carv._ Misguided people of Ballynavogue and Ballynascraw--

[_At the instant Mr. CARVER p.r.o.nounces the word "Ballynavogue," CATTY curtsies, and all the ROONIES, behind her, bow, and answer--_